Hair
by Sins of Angels
Summary: Mother is a complicated title to fill, especially when it had already had an occupant before.


There wasn't much left for her anymore. It wasn't like her little girl got her hair pulled at school, or had a crush on someone who didn't like her back. She wasn't there every Christmas to give her toys, and so many birthdays have gone by without a wish or a cake or a present, a token of love, given. She didn't have a piece of paper hanging on her wall with two tiny handprints in different colored paint, and she could never let her little daughter go through her things and waddle down the hall in oversized heels.

All those things she had dreamed about when her little girl was born, when the miracle had saved her and her precious baby, all of them were stolen from her. She'll never be able to get them back. Despite how naive and child-like this young woman in front of her is, she can't scoop her into her arms and carry her up the stairs as she slept, tucking her into a bed only to have her wake up as soon as she was done and smile at her in the same way she had when she was a baby. When they were together.

Now she could hug her daughter, but it still felt awkward. She had kissed the top of her head, once, and it caused the girl to cry so much that she hasn't done it again. Their hugs were the hugs of strangers, like that horrible woman was still standing between them, making sure they never got too close, never achieved that tight embrace that eighteen years ago her little baby would give her every time she was picked up out of her crib.

In that sense she was jealous of her husband, the father. He didn't have to contend with the memory of the woman who raised her daughter, who kept them apart. He filled an entirely new hole, and she was still fighting to get an inch into one that was already full. She saw their hugs, right before breakfast, and saw how happy together they looked, how close they got, and how she held on for just a second longer than he did. She knew she should be happy for them, happy for her little girl who was not so little, and her husband who had cried every year right before the lanterns went up, confiding in his wife in the moments of weakness. But she couldn't do it. She couldn't bring herself to smile at them every single time, so she settled for staring at her breakfast diplomatically, or turning to look at nearby flowers or paintings and, once, inspecting her wedding band for invisible dust. She hid the sighs, the way her tears came to the brink of her eyes, and the way she crossed her arms sometimes when the two of them were there, hugging, closing her eyes and pretending she was in his place.

She knew that the girl kept the cloak of the woman who raised her. She knew that that woman will always be her mother, in some way. And she knew that, despite everything else and despite all of the love she had for this small, young girl, she could never be a real mother. At best she could share a living space, the shadow of that cloak hanging over her every time she thought she got a little bit closer.

That is why, when her daughter had seeked her out one day, she let the girl come to her. She resisted every urge in her body to run to her baby and waited outside, hands shaking as she cradled the blooming flowers until a shadow alerted her that the girl had arrived. She turned, smiling, and was greeted by the girl holding on to an ornate brush, fingers fidgeting with the handle. She waited, quietly, moving over on the bench to allow the girl to sit next to her.

"Can I ask you for a favor?" her daughter said quietly. After seeing her mother nod, the child continued. "Could I...could I brush your hair for you? I have this beautiful brush, but I'm afraid mine is just too short to really use it." Mother and daughter did not meet eyes, one staring at her child's face and the other staring at the brush in question.

Carefully, and without a word, she reached to the back of her head and took out a few pins. The hair that she had spent half an hour on this morning fell around her face easily, and she turned her back to her child. Gently, she felt the small hands, so much like her own, take hold of it. The brush came in slowly and softly, woven in with the slender fingers as they trailed behind it. She felt a little smile on her face, knowing that her husband had no way to intrude on this territory. This was something that was hers, that was theirs, that only she, her mother, could help her little girl with. She knew, on some level, her little girl was mourning for her previous life, for her familiar life, but in that mourning she's allowing her to step in and provide comfort, even if it's just sitting there as her hair gets more and more frizzy with each brush. When she closed her eyes, the mother could almost convince herself that this was their version of the hug she had grown so jealous of.

When the brushing stopped, she opened her eyes and turned to her daughter. The young girl smiled and thanked her mother for indulging her, before she carefully put her arms around her mother's shoulders. This prompted a smile from the mother again, but this one was even more tainted with sadness. It had been silly to think that a few minutes of brushing hair would bring them closer together, but the disappointment still stung when hug was the same as before. It felt like someone was between them, pulling them together but never letting them get too close.

And then a hand reached around and softly stroked the long hair, brushing it with small fingers. The mother closed her eyes and she was hugging her little girl, barely tall enough to sit at the table by herself and trying hard not to pull her hair like all of the times that her little baby had grabbed and pulled it and giggled. She went to reach around and grab more of her daughter's shoulders, hold her tighter and keep that moment, but the young woman sitting next to her had already retreated. Mother and daughter exchanged a smile before the girl left once more, heading towards the castle.

There wasn't much left for her anymore. Not enough room for a whole new mother, and not enough time for a whole new childhood. Sometimes, though, she got a glimpse of her little baby girl, before she had grown up without her. For now, those glimpses were enough. 


End file.
